


caisil-chrò

by sweptawaybayou



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweptawaybayou/pseuds/sweptawaybayou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>caisil-chrò <br/>a bier, bed of blood, Middle Irish cosair chró, bed of blood - to denote a violent death, Early Irish cosair, bed. the expression appears in the Ossianic Ballads, and folk-etymology is responsible for making Gaelic casair into caisil, bulwark. The word cosair has been explained as co-ster-, root ster, strew, Latin sternere, English strew. </p>
<p>From MacBain’s Dictionary</p>
            </blockquote>





	caisil-chrò

He slides his tongue seductively down her neck, tracing slow, lazy swirls against her heated skin until he reaches the hollow of her throat, the spot where her pulse races to meet his touch. He licks her sweat soaked skin, traces the tip of his tongue back to spot that throbs just beneath the surface, hypnotized by the movement, the feel of her heart beating, vibrating against his sensitive lips. 

So much he could tell her about herself, from the taste in his mouth. When she’d last menstruated, her blood type, the meal she’d just eaten and what color wine she’d had with her dinner. It was all there, flooding his brain with information.

As if any of that mattered at this moment. 

Body heat comes off her in waves and he thought, if he squinted, he should be able to see it. Patterns in the dark, rising up before him. Letting him know the last time she had sex, the ingredients of her perfume, her lotion and soap. The acrid smell of tobacco and liquor and other people from the restaurant where they met. 

He moves downward, his lips on her breast now, rising up to pull a nipple into his mouth and she makes a soft noise, perhaps too low pitched for anyone to hear but him. He smiles, able to see and taste that she has never carried children, her areolas still a virginal pink and he instinctively knows her uterus is still tiny and tight and empty. He licks and nibbles, sucks and rubs the rough stubble on his jaw across her tender, soft skin, feeling the shudders run through her body beneath him.

Her hands push against his large shoulders and he pauses.

“None of that.” he whispers and takes both of her wrists, pulls her arms up above her head. He leans back, enjoying the stretched out arch of her naked body. Then his mouth is on hers; hot and wet and pliant, softer than silk and her tongue and her teeth taste sharply of wine. He sucks on her lower lip, inhaling her rapid breaths and he is drowning in the heat he finds there.

He teases her nipples with callused fingers, pinching the tips, pulling straight up and then gathering the weight of her breast in his palm and squeezing. Her trembling intensifies and he watches, amused, as her body fights with her mind, her knees spreading open almost wantonly, then closing tightly together. He keeps up his slow torture. He is not in a hurry. He will wait until she is crying for him to take her, until the passion overcomes her and she cannot help but plead with him.

His fingers slide down, over the quivering skin of her gently rounded abdomen to touch the tight curls of her pubic hair. Pushing in between silken thighs, dipping gently inside of her and then back up to his mouth. Just for a taste of that smoky heat and salt and life. He licks them clean and puts his hand to her breast again, making the nipple wet. He watches it harden and peak under his cold breath, just inches away from his lips.

A blush spreads up her chest, coloring her neck and cheeks a beautiful shade of pink and he can smell the blood under her skin. So close. He has to bite on his own tongue. Clamp down on the demon that begs for release. That threatens and rages inside of him, always and forever. _‘Patience, patience’_ He whispers to himself and fights back the need, the urge to change. 

He distracts himself by moving down her body. He squeezes her wrists together tightly, a silent admonishment to keep them above her head. Not that it would matter if she didn’t. Nothing she could ever do would deter him. He settles between her legs, pushing them apart, quelling the last of her modesty. He holds her center up to his mouth with his hands, parts her folds with his thumbs and half listens to her cries as he just barely touches her. He is still for a moment. Inhaling her scent. Then he presses his mouth into her. Uses his lips and his teeth and his tongue and his strong grip holds her as she shivers and moves. Tries to get away or get closer and he ignores her thighs as they rub against the sides of his head, brushing against his hair and keeps his concentration focused on what is right in front of him. Focused on just how high he can take her before she can’t control herself. Before she’s weeping and begging and pulling his hair. Before the intensity takes her breath away.

His cock is hard, the end wet with precome and he resists reaching to stroke himself. 

He can wait.

He licks her, pushing his tongue inside of her as she comes, loving the taste of her in his mouth. Musky and sweet and human. He lets her catch her breath, then slides two fingers deep into her, curling them up as he bites gently at her again and she is overly sensitive now. She’s crying, he can smell her tears in the air. Her sudden orgasm takes her by surprise and she screams, incoherent. 

This time he rises above her, licking back up her abdomen to her breasts and coating his face in the perspiration on her shoulders and neck. And he kisses her as he slams his cock into her. Sucking her tongue into his mouth, swallowing her whimpers and his eyes close, he’s in ecstasy at the heat surrounding him. So hot. So incredibly hot.

He rolls them over, so that he is on his back now and she is above him. He holds her hips in his hands, moving her to his pleasure, leaving perfect finger print bruises that blossom purple on her soft skin. Deeper inside of her now. He pushes her up, so that only the very tip of his cock is touching her and then pulls her back down. Hard and fast and again and again. Her fingernails claw the cool, smooth skin of his chest as she comes around him. Muscles fluttering and gripping and squeezing him so tightly until he can’t hold back any longer and he pulls her down into his embrace. His strong arms bringing her in tight, he feels the press of her soft breasts, her nipples against him and he buries his face in her neck. His tongue finds her artery, the very beat of her heart echoes in his mind and his eyes open. Glowing gold in the dark. His teeth sink easily into her, like razor sharp ivory blades. Her blood pours into his mouth and he feels her small fists beat against him, even as she rides the wave of yet another orgasm. He comes inside of her. As he’s drinking her. His gruff moans muffled in her throat.

He pulls his teeth out and away just as she looses consciousness and rolls her onto her back. He licks his lips, catching the last drops of her blood and smiles. Then he sits up and looks across the dark room to the blonde vampire that crouches motionless, soundless and naked in the corner.

“Ya see Will, that’s how you get the sweetest blood. Not always worth the effort, but when ya have the time to spend, there’s nothin’ like it in the world. Now come over here boy, and have a taste.”

Spike moves onto the bed, gathering the young woman’s limp body in his arms. His fangs already bloody from biting his own lips as he waited. He feels Angelus’ grip, tight on his cock as he drinks the perfect ambrosia and knows there is the promise of dessert in Angelus’ fingers. 

 

 

~End


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